Letters
by snooky-9093
Summary: A response to Hubbles: "Dear Prisoner, Teacher Made Me Write You" challenge...***anyone who wishes to contribute their own letters, please send them to me via pm or email, and I'll post them for you! Thanks.**** NOW COMPLETE. THANK YOU EVERYONE.
1. Chapter 1

_Would you believe I've had this story started for over a year. As soon as I got the challenge popping up today in my e-mail, I ran right over to my file and pulled it out.  
So here it goes! Do I win a prize for quickest response?_

_Chapter one_

"Schultz is coming with the mail!" Carter announced as he barreled through the door of the barracks. "And he's got packages!"

That got the entire barracks moving. Men dropped whatever they were doing as they jumped off their bunks. Even Hogan, who heard the news from his office, stopped in mid-shave and scrambled out into the common room.

"Give him some room," he ordered as Schultz, holding his mailbag, walked into the barracks. Everyone stepped back. To Hogan's surprise, Schultz was being followed by two corporals, who unceremoniously dumped four boxes onto the floor.

"Don't touch." The sergeant warned. "These are for Corporal O'Brien."

"Four boxes?" Newkirk tried to get a look. "It's like Christmas."

"Colonel Hogan. Here are the letters." Schultz handed Hogan a pile of envelopes tied up in a string. "Your face!" Schultz chuckled.

Hogan grinned, grabbed a towel and wiped off the shaving cream. "It's been three months since we got mail. Got a little carried away."

"Never mind the letters, Colonel. We're more interested in O'Brien's boxes." Olsen was helping the corporal cut through the tape.

"Wow. Colonel Hogan." It appeared O'Brien was tearing up.

"What is it? Give these out, will ya." Hogan gave LeBeau the group of letters. The French corporal proceeded to hand them out to the men in the barracks.

"It's from my sister, Colonel. She's an elementary school teacher. Look at this! She got the entire school to write letters to us." O'Brien held up a batch of envelopes. Each envelope was addressed to _A Soldier_, _Stalag 13._ "There's got to be hundreds of letters, Sir."

Hogan glanced inside the box. "These kids are going to get answers," he said. "O'Brien, grab some help and start handing these out. Cover the entire camp. Everyone who wants a letter and can write back, gets one. Double up if we run out."

"Yes, Sir." O'Brien replied. "Colonel. Here's the first letter." The corporal held out an envelope.

"Thanks." Hogan smiled. "I'll be in my office."

Hogan planned on writing a personal thank-you to O'Brien's sister and the principal. But first, he had other plans. He looked at the childish handwriting on the unsealed envelope, and gently pulled out the sheet of writing paper and a drawing.


	2. Hogan

_Note: This isn't as easy as it sounds. Writing in a child's voice and a Colonel's voice, as well. Here it goes..._

Dear Soldier,

My name is Russell, and I'm 9. My teacher, Miss O'Brien, aksed us to write a letter because she says her brother is a prisner in a prisen camp in Germany. So my whole class is writing a letter and every soldier in camp could get one! I don't get why you are in prisen, if you aren't crooks. My dad says its too hard to explain. Do you know why?

What is your job? And what did you do before the war? I want to be a baseball player. Are you bored? Prisen sounds boring. And do you live in a cell? Do you know when you can come home?

Maybe you can write back. If you do, I will show your letter to my neighbor, Mrs. **CENSORED.** She has a son in **CENSORED.** Maybe you know him.

Sincerely,

Russell.

PS Here is a picture of my dog. I drew it. Do you like dogs? Her name is Ginger and she is a beagle.

* * *

Dear Russell,

I was thrilled to get your letter. Please thank your teacher for me.

You ask some very intelligent questions. Your father is correct. It is hard to explain why we are here. I guess you could say we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Almost everyone in this camp was in a plane that was shot down. And there are Germans who were shot down over England, and they are now in camps in England, Canada, or the United States.

No, we don't live in cells. We live in building called barracks. Some prison camps have very long buildings that hold a lot of men. Our camp has smaller buildings. The one I live in holds fifteen men. Our camp is almost like a military base. You may have seen films of these at the movies. However, unlike a military base, our guards will not let us leave, unless it is for a work detail (like building roads, shoveling snow). And we are guarded when we do this work.

Before the war, I was a pilot and that is what I was doing when my plane was shot down. Now, **CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED**

**CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED.**

I love baseball. Keep practicing and maybe you will become a professional player. I had to practice a lot to become a pilot.

It is boring here. We play cards and board games. When it is nice outside, we play soccer, volleyball, baseball and other outside games. We have also put on plays and once in a while we get to see a movie. There is a building here that we call the rec hall. There is a small library in there, as well as a ping-pong table, records, puzzles, and a record player.

I love the picture of your dog. It is now hanging up in my office in the barracks. I had a dog when I was a kid. Unfortunately, that is the last time I had a pet. When you are in the army, you move around too much, and that wouldn't be fair to the dog, would it?

I honestly cannot say when I will be coming home, but I hope it will be soon.

Thank you for writing.

Sincerely,

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAAC

Senior POW Officer, Stalag 13

Hogan folded the page and placed it in an envelope. He thought for a moment, walked over to his footlocker, pulled out a spare pair of wings and plopped them in with the letter.


	3. LeBeau

_Thank you for the nice response to the first letter. I was really touched. I'm very willing to open this up to other authors. So, if any of you wish to contribute your own letters, for any characters (including Hogan and LeBeau), please let me know via pm or email, and I will be happy to post them for you. _

_Sue_

Dear Soldier,

Aloha. That means both hello and goodyby in Hawaiin. Did you know that? I think that is really neat. My name is Rachel and I'm in the sixth grade.

I'm sorry that you were captured and are now in a prison camp. It doesn't seem fair does it? I think the governments should make new rules and that all POWs should be traded and sent home. But after that, they aren't allowed to fight anymore. Do you think t hat's a good idea?

I heard it was really cold in Germany. A group of us girls knitted some scarves for you. I think the school sent them with the letters.

What do you do in the camp? It sounds boring. My favorite hobbies are reading, roller skating and going to the movies. I like musicals.

Are you from America or from another country? If so, that would be great. I want to travel someday.

I hope you get to go home soon.

Love,

Rachel

* * *

Dear Rachel,

My name is Louis LeBeau and I am from Paris, France. So I will say "bonjour!" (hello). First, let me say that your idea is wonderful. I have shown your letter to my commanding officer. He said would send the idea to the Red Cross! It would be nice if we could all go home on a trade.

It is very cold here in the winter. So, thank you for the scarves. Sometimes the new prisoners that come into the camp have nothing to wear, so we are saving the scarves for them.

Being in camp is boring. But you need to find an hobby or something you like to do keep yourself occupied and busy, For me, that is cooking. I was a chef in Paris before the war and now I sometimes cook meals for the men in my barracks. We also play a lot of card games!

I must confess that I don't know how to roller skate. However, like you, I love the movies. I remember going to the cinema in the 1930's and enjoying some of the American musicals…Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers, and something called Busby Berkeley! You know, I like to sing and I have performed in our camp variety shows.

I have been ehre a long time. (longer than the Americans) and I miss my home and family very much. France is a beautiful country and there is much to see. I hope someday you will get the chance to see my country and the rest of the world.

So, I will now say au revoir. (good-bye)

Ton ami, (your friend)

Corporal Louis LeBeau


	4. Carter by Hogan MacGiver

_By: Hogan Macgyver_

Deer prisiner somewhere in Germ-many,

My name is Becky and I will be nine soon. My teecher told me I should wright some thing nice happening here. But I do not know what.

There is snow here and I think it is nice. Do you have snow where you are?

I maed a snow man. He is really big. I love making them. Have you maed a snowman?

A mean boy in my school nocked him down because he thinks its fun to see me cry. He is a big bully.

Do you have bullys where you are? I hope not. My big brother and his friend hulped me make a new one. Do you have friends to help you do things?

Sincerely,

Becky

P.S. Here is a pair of buttons for you snowman's eyes. They are green.

Dear Becky,

Thank you for the letter. It was the best thing that has happened to me this week! Thank your teacher for me too.

Yes there is snow here. In fact there is usually bunches of it covering the ground. I love making snowmen as well. When I lived in **CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED** I won a snowman building contest. There we make them hollow on the inside.

I'm sorry he knocked it down but I'll bet it was the biggest and prettiest one there.

That was kind of your brother to fix it for you. I never had any older siblings to do stuff like that with when I was your age. It must be great.

Some of the guards are a little tough on us. They don't really bully us that much.

I do have lots of friends here who I do things with. We play cards, board games, ping pong, and other activities. When the weather is good we play baseball and volleyball.

I'm glad you sent me buttons. They'll be perfect for the snowman I'm building in front of my barracks.

Sincerely,

Sergeant First Class Andrew J. Carter

Stalag 13


	5. A letter from Shirley by Allthings

Submitted by _All-things_

Dear Mr. Soldier

Hello, my name is Shirley and I am six years old. I'm not very good at  
writing so I'm having my Aunt Mary write this letter for you. She says  
'Hello' too.

You're in a camp? I like camp. Uncle Frank says that your camp isn't like  
the ones I've gone to. Then what type of camp is it? Do you play ball? Or  
make things? We make things at school. I like painting in art class. My  
teacher thought it would be good to send you a picture I made. That's me in  
the middle and Aunt Mary to my right and Uncle Frank to my left. I don't have  
a mommy or a daddy. They died when I was little. That's why I'm staying with  
my aunt and uncle. I love them a whole lot.

We have an apple tree in our yard and I like to go and pick apples with  
Uncle Frank. We give them to Aunt Mary to make apple pie and I help. Do you  
like apple pie?

I hope you have a good life when the war is over.  
Your little girl friend,

Shirley

_From Snooky: This letter needs a response. Anyone care to help?_


	6. The reply to Shirley by Allthings

Dear Shirley,

My name's Peter. I was never a very good writer, either. Always kept getting those D's and B's mixed up. Say 'hello' to your aunt for me.

I never went to camp when I was a lad. I reckon it must be a ruddy good time.

As for the camp I'm at now, well, it's a bit over your head, love. Let's  
just say that I've been captured by the bad men and am waiting for my rescue,  
like a damsel in distress, I suppose. Yes, we get to play ball everyday,  
unless of course some bloke breaks a rule and we have our play time taken  
away. I loved the picture, lass. I put it in me chest and here's one for  
you. The short man on the right is me little mate, Louie, and next to him is  
Andrew, next to him is Kinch, then the Governor, and then there's me. I love  
apple pie too. It's my favorite dessert. I used to climb me neighbors apple  
tree when I was a lad.

Thanks for writing us and I hope you have a fine life.  
Your Soldier,  
Peter Newkirk

-


	7. A letter for Hogan by Lizzie

_submitted by Lizzie_

Dear Prisioner,

mein Name ist Rike (Riiiiikaaaaaa, EX. RImember. And KAtton), but I call now =R=e=b=e=k=k=a= RebeCCa. Is it right You are in Germany? My Teacher say You are trap. I know. I fill trap. I am trap in the USA. Ich miss Home. I miss my Room, und my Toies. I miss also Apfelschorle and Uschi (my kat). Miss You Home? It is hard. My Family is in Germany. They are also trap. They are in **(CENSORED)**. I miss meine Familie. I am in USA sense 2 Years (18 Months). I live before 1 year in France. How long been You Prisoner? I am very sory my Englisch is bad. Every Day I lern. My Family run from Germany **(-CENSORED-)**

Do like You Germany? I like the USA. But no Pinut Buter. It is BAD! Give it here no War, no Boms, no Evil. I HATE Boms! They are SKARY! I want Peice. I vermiss but my Friends wenn I House go. Pleez make War's End.

Sincerely,

Rike now RebeCCa Herz, Age 12

Dear Rike,

I am in Germany. I am at a Prisoner of War Camp in **(CENSORED)**. I understand how you feel. It is very hard not being home. You are very brave. Don't worry, soon the war will be over and you may go home. You're right however, leaving your new friends will be very hard. I know when the war is over, I will miss all my friends here. Your parents may decide to stay. That is alright too. Sometimes change is fun.

I am very sorry to hear about your family. I wish I could help them. There are a lot of people trapped here. (Including me!) But soon they will be free. You must keep believing. Germany will be free again, Patton will see to that!

Peanut butter is interesting, isn't it? When I was your age, I hated it too. Now I miss it. I miss my room too, it had pictures of airplanes, and was a very special place to me. I know your new room is different, but soon it will become special too. You could put up pictures of Germany from old magazines, and pretend you are back home. However, don't let pretending became reality. (Sometimes I even close my eyes and pretend I am home, shhh. Don't tell anyone. It will be our little secret). I never had a cat, only a dog, Bruno. I miss him too, but he is long since gone. I miss my family very much too, Rike. They are in the States worrying about me, as much as I worry about them. Yet, we are both alright, and I feel better knowing they are safe. I know you miss your family, but they are happy, I am sure, to know you are safe.

Two years is a long time to be away from home, for anyone. I have been in Germany for two years, but away from home much longer. It is very hard being some place new, but it gets easier with time. I know you are a big, brave girl, and you will grow up into a wonderful woman. This experience is very hard, but you will learn a lot from it. (And not just English!) Just think of all the exciting adventures you will have during your time in the States with your new friends.

I'm glad you like the US, I like it too! My home town was in **(CENSORED)**. I like Germany as well, well, some parts of it. The snow I could do without. But there are very nice people here. Sometimes we are allowed outside the camp to do work. I always go along with my men, even though I don't have to, and the local townspeople are usually very kind to us. The countryside is also very beautiful.

Just like you, I also don't like when the bombs fall. They are very scary, even for me. You are a very, very brave girl to have lived through that. And again, like you, I also want peace. I want it very, very much. Everyone who is over here is trying to make it a reality. You must keep believing, soon the war will be over and there will be peace. And no more bombs.

With friendly wishes,

Col. Robert E. Hogan

P.S. Always remember: ANGEL BU1

_1__ This is an anagram for, __Glauben__. __Glauben__ means Believe. _


	8. A letter for Olsen by Lizzie

_submitted by Lizzie!_

Dear Prisoner,

My brother Keith is a prisoner at **(CENSORED)** do you know him?

Sincerely,

Ronny Hawkins, age 8

Dear Ronny,

I'm afraid I don't know your brother. There are a lot of guys here, quite a few named Keith, but not Keith Hawkins, sorry. However, I will keep my ears open for your brother. I am sure he is safe. While the POW camps aren't the greatest place in the world, they are generally safe from the bombing, and front lines. I'm sure you miss your brother very much, but know that he will be coming home soon. The war can't last forever, not if the guys fighting it have any say, and then he will be back home before you know it. Until then, you can help us by staying strong for your brother and doing everything you can to help your parents. You could even learn some new games to play with him when he returns. But be aware Ronny, when your brother returns he may not want to talk about everything. Camp life is hard, it's not like summer camp, but after a while he will be the Keith that you know.

Warm wishes and regards,

Sgt.. John Olsen, USAF


	9. and one for Newkirk by Lizzi

_submitted by Lizzi_

_references to Stalag 13 Gazette with Snooky9093's permision_

Dear Prisoner

you are so lucky! I want to fight! tanks are swell! my neybor drives one but he is somewhere in the pasifik ocean did you drive a tank when I am old eenuf, I will drive one! right now I am nine they are super swell! you can shoot people and other tanks just like in the movies! my little brother wants to be a pilot, he is seven. but I want to drive tanks and shoot things! my dad is an ingunr he fixes broken planes are you going to eskap from the prison have other people eskaped what is it like fighting in a war is it like the movies?

Sincerely,

Tommy Jones, age 9

Dear Tommy,

I haven't driven a tank, no, but I have seen them. I was part of the aircrew on board a plane, before it was shot down. If you want to drive one one day, then you bloody well should try and go for it. Shermans look to be a true lark, but you need education to drive them, so stay in school and learn as much as you can before you enlist. As for your brother, that is bloody brilliant if he wants to become a pilot, he should. Flying is a lot of fun, one soars with the birds, and it feels like magic.

But the war isn't like cinema. In cinema John Wayne always wins, and the bad bloke always loses. I wish real life were like that. War isn't happy, or glorious, it's dirty, and mean, and sometimes the good lot loses. I don't mean Jerry will win the war, but it's hard getting there. The living conditions aren't as good as cinema, often one lives in a bin of a bivvy, sleeping on biscuits, eating chook, and having a blimp order you around. Most of the time you're either browned off or fighting. I know that you don't want to hear that, but it's the truth. But if you still want to drive Sherman, you can, but don't let it be a stunner when it's not like cinema.

As for escape…well, like I mentioned, war isn't like cinema. But I wish it were. I'm in the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. We've tried to escape, but none of us have been as lucky as the fellows elsewhere. They are truly lucky as escape is bloody near to impossible here.

To help give you an idea of what life truly is like here, I am adding a clipping from the Stalag 13 Gazette. This is our local camp paper, it's got loads of information about what we lot actually do here day to day. I hope you find it interesting, and of course you may share it with your class. Kommandant Klink is in charge of the camp, and Colonel Robert Hogan is the liaison between us and him. Sorry there's no photo but cameras are forbidden here.

Cheers,

RAF Corp. Peter Newkirk


	10. From Ironamerica: A letter for Kinch

_submitted by Ironamerica_

Dear Soldier,

My name is Satomi; I am seven years old. Miss O'Brien, my favorite _sensei_ (that means 'teacher' in Japanese. _My dumb sister should know better_) at school, asked us to write letters, because her brother is in a prison camp in Germany. (Is your camp anything like **CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED**?)

I live in **CENSORED**, and it is very nice here during the spring. I do not like winter much, because I cannot play outside—I help take care of _sofubo_ (grandfather) and _kaka_ (my mother, not what my stupid classmate said it was!) because they are sick. Do you get sick in your camp? Father says everyone gets sick, but I don't think soldiers can get sick, even if they are far away from home.

My brother, Isamu, wants to know how to join the military (he wants to be a **CENSORED**). (He's the one who called me dumb!) Could you tell him how, so he'll stop pestering me?

Do you know where all the potatoes we eat come from? Father wants to know (and he wants to go back to the farm where we used to live, and never see another as long as he lives! I think he's joking…maybe.)

Sincerely, Satomi

(P.S. I put in a brush painting I did of the cherry tree my mother used to have. It was very pretty.)

Dear Satomi

Thank you for the letter, and please thank your teacher for having you write.

I don't think your brother should have called you dumb, especially in your own letter. (If I'd done that as a kid, my dad would have given me a spanking.) I don't know if my camp is anything like the ones back home, because we've got lots of fences that keep us in, and guards who don't let us leave the fences unless we're working (like shoveling snow or helping repair roads).

Yes, we get sick even in **CENSORED**. Soldiers are just like everyone else, including your brother, if he joins. If he is serious about joining, he should go to a recruiting office and sign up—**CENSORED CENSORED**. It takes a lot of physical work, and it's not a very forgiving career.

The potatoes might come from Germany. Lord knows we eat enough of them here. I think living on a farm would be very nice.

Thank you for the picture, it was very nice.

Sincerely,

Sergeant James Kinchloe

P.S. What language do you speak? I couldn't read the word that your brother scratched out.

_Note: Satomi is Japanese. She lives in an internment camp—by 1943, inmates were allowed to leave the camps for work, and I'm assuming (judging by photographic evidence) that Japanese-American children were allowed to attend public schools_.


	11. A letter for LeBeau by Lizzi

_submitted by Lizzi_

Dear Prisoner,

I'm sorry you are in jail. One time I helped put worms in Susie's desk. The teacher gave me deetenshun. We had to clean erasers and chalk boards. What kind of punishment do you have? Do you clean chalk boards and erasers and gum from desks?

Sincerely,

Tommy

P.S: Mrs. White says I have to tell you I am 7

Chère Tommy,

No, we don't clean classrooms, but I wish we did. Sometimes we clean the Kommandant's office (he is the one in charge of the camp) but most of the time cleaning is reserved for normal routine. We clean our barracks every day, and take turns on ground detail (meaning cleaning the camp outside the buildings), and we take turns cleaning the Mess Hall (where we eat), and the Rec Hall (where we play). But we really aren't "punished" for anything. If we do something wrong, or try to escape we are put into what we call the "cooler". It's like timeout in a corner at home. You have to sit there by yourself and think about what you did "wrong". Other than that, we spend most of the time being bored and playing games and thinking about home. Usually there is a game of rounders or baseball or football (I think I heard the Americans say Sawker? Soker? Something like that). In fact, there is a game right now going on outside, it's the Australians verses the Canadians. Who do you think will win?

But my recommendation to you is not to put worms in girls' desks anymore. Try keeping them in the ground, or studying them in a glass jar.

Salutations distinguées,

Corp. Louis LeBeau, Armée de l'Air


	12. From a nine year old girl by Firefall

_submitted by Firefall_

_This one needs an answer! Anyone?_

__

Dear soldier,

My name is Janet and I am 9 years old, but I will be 10 next month. I like birthdays a lot, Mom makes a cake or pie and we get out of chores for the whole day! My favorite is cherry pie Mom makes from the cherries we get from CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED, we give them eggs from our chickens and then we get to pick cherries when they get ripe to put up and to make pies and jams and stuff. We swap eggs with other farms and get other foods back and forth, our folks say its the best way to help each other and what nabors and friends are supost to do. To bad not everybody got tot the golden rule maybe the emperer of Japan and Hitler might not be so sneaky and mean if there folks tot them good manners. My chores are to feed the chickens and mule, his name is Duke, befor breakfast every morning. Do you have chores there? Do you have chickens? I have 5 hens of my own and we keep there eggs for us, and sell the eggs from the others, almost 70 hens in our flock. Dad says there eggs are for our troops. I help take care of our flock and if you dont have chickens I hope you get our eggs, they are the best tastin ever! My 5 hens are more speshal and real purty to, they are named Marigold, she has lotsa orange, Violet, shes purplyblack, Rosie, shes red, BeAnca means white and shes mostly white, and Clown is lotsa colors and kinda funny so I named her that. Dad says your probly not allowed pets there and you probly miss your home and famly there. I bet your family misses you a lot to. Lotsa boys from the farms and town here are gone to the war, some been killed. Its real sad but Dad says its somthin thats got to get done. I hope you don't get hurt or killed and you get to go home soon. Uncle Ted was hurt in the last war, he says he was CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED, in the big one he calls it, and hopes this war is not as bad as that. I will pray for you and your friends like I do the boys from here and thank you for doin your duty and for keeping my friends and family safe. I drew pictures of my chickens and I hope you like them, I got to use lots of different colors to show you how purty they really are. I drew a cross and a flag so God will watch over you even there and you probly only have that ugly red flag with the spider on it to see. I think our flag is really beutiful and Dad says I should think of our troops every time I see our flag flying and I promise I will. Dad says our troops are fighting with our friends from England and Canada and France and lotsa other friends from even other countrys and I promise to remember them to. I saw a pictur of the English flag and it's the same colors as ours, its pretty to but I like ours best, Uncle Ted calls our flag ol glory and its very proud and strong. Did you know Canadas flag has a maple lefe on it, maybe they have lotsa maple surup there, that would be really nice I like maple surup and the maples just light up the hills in the fall. Dad and Mom says I should be grateful you and the troops are keeping us safe by fighting and giving up so much. We are really lucky you are there for us.

Thank you

your friend Janet

(Miss McDermott my teacher says my letter should count for 2. I like to talk a lot to I hope you dont mind)


	13. Carter answers Janet: by Sgt Moffit

_submitted by Sgt. Moffit_

Dear Janet,

That was a real nice letter! I don't mind that you talk a lot 'cause I talk a lot too. Sometimes the guys here have to remind me not to talk so much! But they're still a great bunch of guys anyway.

I sure wish I could taste your mom's cherry pie right now, that would be great. And I'm sure your chickens lay the best eggs ever. The eggs probably taste so good because you take such good care of your chickens. I helped take care of our family's hens when I was your age and I had my favorites too. One of them I named Sally - she liked to follow me around the yard. Once she tried to follow me to school!

We don't have any chickens here, but boy, do we have plenty of chores to do!

I'm glad that your folks taught you good manners and to help other people out. That's one of the things this war is about - too many folks were being hurt and not treated with respect, and we had to do something about it. Someday soon, those folks will be free and nobody's going to hurt them anymore.

Thank you so much for the pictures of your chickens - the colors are great and really brightened up the place when I hung them on the wall. The guys really like them, too. I hope you don't mind, but I gave the picture of the flag to my commanding officer. When he saw it, I could tell it was real important to him, so I let him have it to hang in his office. He says thanks very much to you.

I hung the picture of the cross over my bunk. Every time I look at it, I remember that you and your folks are praying for us, and it makes me feel good inside. I will remember that God is watching over us, and watching over you too.

Thank you very much for writing to me!

Your friend,

Sergeant Andrew J. Carter


	14. A letter from someone familiar

_submitted by Lizzi_

_this one needs a response!_

Dear Prisoner,

Hi, my name is Walter, and I am 11 years old. My ma says **(-CENSORED-) **Is that true? I hope not. I read in the newspaper in class that **(-CENSORED-) **That's so sad. I hope it isn't true. My teacher was talking about **(-CENSORED-) **Strange isn't it? What do you think? Well I'm going to go. School is over and I need to get back home to milk the cow. Bye!

Sincerely,

Walter O'Reilly, age 11

_I do not own the idea of the creation of the Character of Walter O'Reilly_


	15. Another person you may recognize

_From Lizzi_

Dear Prisoner,

My name is Molly McIntire, and I am ten years old. My father is fighting in the war too. He is a doctor in England. I think he is very brave, but I miss him a lot. I saw my neighbour's star go from blue to gold last month. I am very worried about my dad. We received a telegram that he is missing after the Germans bombed. Do you think he is okay? We have a girl from England. She is also ten. Her name is Emily She talks about the bombs. Is bombing very bad there? We made a play shelter under the table. And my brother Ricky he bounced his basketball on it. Emily ran away crying. I don't understand her. She is sometimes mean. I feel bad though, because she is far away from home. Are you lonely? Is it hard living with Germans? I want to play with her but she is very quiet. I wish the war was over. I want my dad back, and I want Emily to go back to England. We did play rollerskating. We both want a dog. Do you have a dog? My teacher, Miss Campbell, wants my class to make blankets for the wounded. Is it cold in Germany? If you become wounded at the camp, do you go to England? If you do, will you tell my dad hi and that I love him?

Sincerely,

Molly McIntire, age 10

_I do not own Molly McIntire, but I do own the hours I spent learning to read English with her! **NOTE FROM SNOOKY: Molly is an American Girl Doll. This letter describes her circumstances in the book published to accompany the doll.**_

Dear Molly,

You should be very proud of what your dad is doing in England. He has a very important job there. Treating (helping) injured people is very difficult, and sometimes a little scary. I've had to help put bandages before on my buddies. It can be a little nerve-racking, hoping you are doing it correctly.

I'm VERY sorry to hear about the telegram. I've been in England before, during an air raid, and it is scary, I won't lie to you. But "MIA" is not "KIA", remember that. Always remember that. Your dad may simply be helping others around him. He may turn up very soon. You must be strong, and keep hoping. According to my family, I was listed MIA until I showed up here at the prison camp. But that doesn't mean your dad was taken prisoner, in fact, your dad is probably just fine.

Your family is doing a very good thing by hosting Emily. When I was younger I had an international penpal. My penpal lived in Alaska! My teacher set up the program, and it was fun to see how someone else lived. You can learn a lot from Emily, and she can learn a lot from you. She may seem mean because she is just scared. She is living in a whole new world. I was very scared when I went to England, everything was so different. But after a while I learned how things worked (like cars on the other side of the road!), and I made some good friends. I'm sure you have a lot in common, not just roller-skating and your love for dogs!

Speaking of which, I had quite a few growing up. I lived on a small farm. It used to be bigger, but because of the dust storms, we had to sell a lot of land. I had 3 dogs (my favourite was Snoopy), 2 cats, my very own pet mouse (I rescued him from the cat), and a brother. It was a crazy time fitting us all into the house! But I wouldn't have given it up for anything.

It does gets very, very cold here in Germany at night. And very hot in the summer. Blankets will be most welcome! Often there aren't enough to go around, and there isn't always a spare when a new guy arrives. During very cold winter nights, we fit as many guys into a bed as possible for warmth, so the blankets will go to very good use.

If I see your father, I will happily deliver the message! Sadly, when we get sick, or hurt we don't get to go to England, although I really wish we did. What happens here, is our medic, his name's Joe Wilson, takes care of us. Some camps have actual doctors who were captured, but ours doesn't, though Wilson does a great job! If we get really sick, we are allowed to go to the local hospital, or a local or Red Cross doctor may come. The guys who are injured when they are captured go to a special hospital just for them before they arrive here. While it may not be as good as your dad, we are still taken care of, so don't worry.

I look forward to seeing all your blankets! My favourite colour is green! Happy green, not olive drab green.

Have a great day,

Sgt. Andrew Carter, USAF


	16. Thomas's response by Marie 1964

Dear Walter,

My name is Thomas, and some days I feel older than I'd like to be. Colonel  
Hogan—he's our Senior POW Officer—sees to it that we're well taken care  
of. Still, I can't wait until this war is over and we can all be allowed to  
head home. In the meanwhile, we keep busy. We're allowed to play sports, such  
as volleyball, and there's a rec hall where we can pass the time. Plus, we  
often play (CENSORED) with our friends. I hope you have a lot of friends at  
school. Mine are two other Americans named Sergeant Andrew Carter and Sergeant  
James Kinchloe, a Frenchman named Corporal Louis LeBeau, and an Englishman  
named Corporal Peter Newkirk. Colonel Robert Hogan is my friend also. I'm not  
the best artist, but I hope you can get an idea of what they look like from  
this rough pencil sketching I made of them.

I'm not sure what your mother said; unfortunately, that part of your letter  
was censored out. But I can tell you this—you have to be brave for your  
mother. I know it can be hard sometimes, especially for somebody at your age,  
but try not to be so mischievous. I'm glad to hear that you're helping your  
mother by taking care of your cow. I'm sure she's, or he's, beautiful. While  
we're not allowed to have pets in camp, we all help Carter take care of Felix.  
He's a (CENSORED). Felix means a lot to us; one time he escaped, and Carter  
wouldn't let us rest until we had found him. Don't worry—we did.

Your family might also take comfort in your faith. That's part of the reason  
why we're over here, fighting this war. The Jewish people are being (CENSORED)  
and (CENSORED), which many people in our camp don't like. Maybe that's what  
you read in your class newspaper? I wish I could be more specific, but that  
part was also censored out. Personally, I'm thinking of joining a seminary  
when I get back home, so that I can enter into the priesthood. Whichever faith  
you are, I hope you can take, at the very least, a small amount of comfort  
from it.

I wish I knew what your teacher was talking about; however, that part of the  
letter was also censored. I hope you mean strange in a good way; we could  
certainly use some good news around here. I also have to go—our resident  
chef, LeBeau, has just finished making dinner. I hope that one of these days,  
when the world is at peace, that you'll be able to visit another country.  
French cuisine is delicious!

Your friend,  
Thomas Mulcahy 


	17. By San Antonio Rose: a letter from John

_submitted by San Antonio Rose_

Dear prisoner,

First of all, thank you for serving! I know you might not have had a choice  
if you were drafted, but I think everyone who's fighting for our freedom  
deserves our thanks.  
What's it like to be a prisoner? Is it hard to not be in the air anymore?  
I've decided that I want to be a spy after I graduate in a few years-I love  
acting, and I'd like to be able to use that skill to serve my country. But I  
hope, for everyone's sake, that the war is over by then. If it is, maybe I'll  
go to West Point instead.  
I wish I had some news from the home front that would interest you, but life's  
pretty much the same as it always has been, except for Mom adding a Victory  
garden off the kitchen and finding ways to get creative with our rations. Is  
food rationed in your camp? If you've got any good recipes, I'm sure Mom  
would be willing to trade.  
Guess I'd better wrap this up. Thanks again. We're proud of you.

Yours,

John Smith  
Age 15

**_We need a response. Anyone care to contribute?_**


	18. Hogan answers John: by Sgt Moffit

_Submitted by Sgt. Moffit_

Dear John,

It's nice to know that the folks back home appreciate that fellas like me are  
serving their country. I wouldn't say it's hard, exactly, being a prisoner.  
Probably no harder for us than for those guys on the front lines, for sure.  
But I do miss flying. I know someday I'll fly again, when the world is free.

That's a very interesting ambition you have for after graduation. But remember  
that you can serve your country in many different ways. The important thing is  
to have a desire to help other people. Something tells me that you would be a  
great leader.

Keep up with your schoolwork and don't be afraid to have ideas! Sure,  
sometimes people might think you're a little crazy...heck, I've heard the guys  
call me "crackers" (when they thought I wasn't listening) over some of the  
ideas I've had...but they usually work out in the end. And I love it when a  
plan comes together.

You might say food is rationed in our camp. At least, we don't get a whole lot  
of choice of food in the mess hall. But one of my men, Corporal LeBeau, is a  
wizard for making delicious meals out of practically anything. Maybe he and  
your mom could trade recipes.

What I really miss, though, is a good cigar.

Thanks so much for writing to me. You know, we're pretty proud of you folks on  
the homefront, too.

Warmest wishes,

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAAC

-


	19. By restoringthehistory: from Maggie

_Submitted by: restoringthehistory_

_note from Snooky: I think some of this letter would have been censored, but I didn't want to play censor to someone else's work. And we need a response._

Dear Prisoner,  
My name is Magdalena but everyone calls me Maggie. Everyone says that the  
Germans are bad, but I'm German, because my parents were born there. We all  
live in America now, but we still all speak German at home. The other day my  
teacher told me off for saying a German word! It was just Mittagessen (lunch).  
My older brother Peter got hit because of what Mama packs him for lunch. Does  
that mean that we are bad? My Oma says no, but everyone else says yes. Do you  
know any good Germans? Do you have any friends there? My cousin is fighting  
for the Germans. Does that mean that he is really bad? No one here wants to  
talk about anything, so I wanted to write to you. I heard a man in the street  
say that the Germans were all going hell, and I'm really worried about Karl. I  
really don't think that I am bad.

From,

Maggie Wagner Age 8


	20. Kinch's answer to Maggie

_Submitted by: Canadian Hogan's Fan_

Dear Maggie,

Thank you so much for your letter. I always like hearing from people at home.  
My folks write as often as they can, but sometimes it takes forever to get  
their letters.

I'm sorry to hear about your brother, and what other people are saying about  
your family. No, I don't think you're bad. I know lots of Germans who are  
good. One of the CENSORED is very nice. He likes it when we share our  
candy bars with him.

I don't think your cousin bad either. He's like me, and everyone else who's  
fighting. He's doing what he thinks is right. I might not agree with him about  
what right is, but I don't think that makes either one of us bad.

When I was growing up in CENSORED, there was a boy in my neighborhood who used  
to call me horrible names and run away when I tried to play with him. I tried  
to be nice and gave him my baseball cards and candy, but he was still really  
mean. Finally, I asked him why.

He said, "Because you're black. All black people are bad because they stole my  
daddy's job."

People are funny like that Maggie. They get these ideas and they can't seem to  
get them out of their heads, even when the truth is staring right at them. It  
happened to me too. I stayed away from that boy and most other white people  
for a long time after that. Now, I have a few white friends with me here in  
camp. What I like best about them is that they see me for who I am, not for  
how I look or where I'm from.

When I joined the CENSORED, I learned most folks are really decent once they  
start seeing with their hearts, not their eyes. People are afraid of what they  
don't understand and I think they might be afraid of your family. Be patient.  
They'll change their minds eventually.

I wish I had a magic word that would make everything better. But, I'll tell  
you this: whatever happens, don't let anyone make you think you're something  
you're not until they've been in your shoes. They don't know what they're  
talking about until they know what it's like to be you.

Good luck and best wishes,

Staff Sgt. James Kinchloe  
USAAF


	21. From Arlene: a message to the POW's

_submitted by: inhonoredglory_

_And this one needs a reply!_

Dear Soldier,  
My teacher says we should all pitch in and write letter to POWs, so here I am!  
I just want to bring you a little bit of happy. It can be sad not to hear from  
your families and friends a lot. I know because once I spent the summer with  
my cousin in a cabin in the forest. There was no mail or calls or visitors and  
it was kind of lonely after a while. I mean, you can't blame CENSORED (he's my  
cousin). Even with one person, it can be lonley, I mean, lonely.  
But you, you've got enemies around you. You know, German guards who don't like  
you. That's got to be kind of depressing. So I'm here to shine a little sunny  
on you a bit. That's what my grandma used to say, "shine a little sunny."  
My grandma used to say no matter what happens, keep your chin up. She says  
that dark times can have some happy in them. She says the smallest light can  
glow in the darkest room.  
I hope this letter is a little light for you.  
Mommy says we should pray for you, so I asked God to help you and your  
friends. I think God has some purpose for you out there. Maybe you got to meet  
some nice people you would've never met otherwise. I hope so.  
I hope you get to come home soon and not be lonely.

Sincerely,

Arlena (I'm 13) 


	22. Baker answers Arlene!

Submitted by: sparra-music

Dear Arlena,

Thank you for writing! Your letter (and all of your classmates' letters,  
too!) really cheered us all up. Sometimes it takes a long time to get letters  
from our families and friends, and when those boxes of letters arrived, one of  
my friends, Newkirk, said that it was like Christmas! He was right, too;  
everybody's got a letter and a smile on their face today, and we can't help  
sharing them all around like a bunch of proud papas.

I have gotten to meet a lot of wonderful people who I could never have been  
friends with if we weren't all here in camp together. There's a tech sergeant  
named Carter. He likes to keep us amused by telling stories about growing up  
in -CENSORED-, making milkshakes and trouble when he worked in a drugstore in  
-CENSORED-, and his menagerie of pets. And Newkirk, he's a -CENSORED- and a  
magician, and he can -CENSORED- -CENSORED- -CENSORED-. LeBeau, he's part of  
the -CENSORED-, he cooks us the most delicious food, whenever he can get the  
ingredients. He also sings pretty well. Our CO, Colonel Hogan, is a right  
nice guy, too. He's a bit of a storyteller, too. Although his stories tend  
to be crazy and mostly unbelievable. And there's Kinch, who's probably my  
best friend here and has taught me a lot of new skills. We keep each other  
from getting lonely or bored. I think you might be right about God having a  
purpose for us.

Thanks for praying for us. We're all hoping to get home safe, too.

Sergeant Richard Baker  
USAAC


	23. A bit of drama by Canadian Hogan's Fan

submitted by Canadian Hogan's Fan

Sincerely,

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAAC

Senior POW Officer, Stalag 13

"Colonel?"

Hogan winced as he set his pen down and massaged his right hand. "Yeah,  
Kinch?"

Kinch frowned. "You alright, sir?"

Hogan rose from his quarter's table and turned to his second in command.  
"Fine. Just a little writer's cramp. What's going on?"

"Klink's on his way over here and he's mad about something."

Hogan sighed and started for the barrack's common area. "Let's see if we can't  
head him off. I don't want the boys' good mood spoiled if I can help it."

Kinch smirked. "I think that's a bit of an understatement, sir. See for  
yourself."

Hogan pushed his door open, restraining himself from covering his ears to dull  
the roar of happy chatter and laughter that greeted him. "You weren't kidding!  
There hasn't been this much excitement since Christmas."

"Hey!" Lebeau snarled, slapping his bunkmate's arm. "That was my letter!"

"Get this!" Newkirk shouted over the din. "'Do you ever see Mr. Hitler? If you  
do, then please punch him in the nose for me!'"

A cheer rose from the men who weren't engrossed in writing.

"Pardon me sir," Carter said as he approached Hogan. "Would you mind helping  
me with this letter? I really don't know how to answer it."

The barrack door banged against the wall as Klink burst in. "What is going on  
here?"

The men traded scowls as the Iron Eagle kicked a bag of letters, scattering  
them across the floor.

"I asked you a question!" he snapped. "What is going on?"

"Heir Kommandant," Schultz wheezed, closing the door behind him. "I'm here."

"Did I ask for you? I think not!" He gestured to Hogan. "What's going on  
here?"

"Well, Kommandant, one of the men has a sister who's a teacher. She got her  
school to write us all letters and we've been answering them."

Klink nodded, pacing the floor. "Uh huh. What soft lives you prisoners lead.  
How fortunate for you that you don't have to face a hard day's work, unlike us  
Germans." He grinned. "We'll soon rectify that. Hogan, I'm having you and your  
men assigned to a work detail."

Hogan folded his arms as a groan rose from the men. A few hissed and one  
cursed.

Klink pointed his riding crop at the offender. "Thirty days in the cooler for  
you and reduced rations for the rest of the camp. Schultz!"

The stout sergeant stepped forward. "Jawohl, heir Kommandant?"

"Take that man to the cooler. And take away the rest of this trash!"

Hogan moved toward the unopened boxes of mail. "I protest Kommandant! You  
can't do that!"

"Get out of the way Hogan, or I will have you shot!"

Hogan's eyes widened, but he stepped aside.

Carter waved his letter. "Colonel, you can't let him do this!"

Hogan frowned. "What do you want me to do? Your Kommandant just threatened  
me."

Carter turned to Klink. "Kommandant, please don't do this."

Klink snatched the letter from Carter's hand and turned, elbowing Schultz's  
stomach. "Take this man to the cooler too and get out of my way, you big tub  
of blubber!"

Schultz flinched as he saluted and watch his commander depart, slamming the  
door behind him. "The big shot thinks he's so smart," he muttered, taking  
Carter's arm. "All right, come along."

"Boy," Carter said, glaring at Hogan as the sergeant pulled him away. "It's  
times like these were a guy knows where he stands in this world."

Newkirk scratched his chin. "Pardon me, guv'ner, but don't you think you're  
under reacting just a wee bit?"

"No." Hogan replied. "I'm just thinking."

"Pardon me again, sir," Newkirk said, fighting to keep his tone even. "But  
what might you possibly be thinking about?"

"What's got Klink so edgy. I can't recall the last time he threatened to shoot  
me, or put men in the cooler for no reason."

"Burkhalter maybe. Or Hochstetter?"

Hogan shook his head. "It's something bigger than that. But what?"

oOo

"Fraulein Hilda!" Klink yelled, resuming the patrol around his desk he'd  
started before visiting the barracks.

Hilda poked her head around the door to his office. "Jawohl, Heir  
Kommendaunt?"

Klink paused, taking in the green sweater and navy skirt combination that  
hugged her plentiful curves. "You look lovely today."

Hilda looked down. "Danka. I hadn't noticed."

I doubt it, Klink thought. How could she not notice the way the guards  
slobbered over her when you come to work every morning. "Have you heard  
anything about our missing food supplies yet?"

"Not a word. I've called everyone I can think of and no one seems to know  
where they are."

Klink leaned against his desk, absently biting his left thumbnail. "They've  
probably been stolen or blown up by the underground. That would be just my  
luck." He slapped the sides of his legs. "I don't know what to do. We're going  
to be out of food in a few days."

Hilda managed a small smile. "Try not to worry too much, Heir Kommandant. I'm  
sure everything will turn out alright."

"I wish I could believe that," he muttered.

"Pardon me?"

He waved her away. "Nothing. Let me know if you hear anything more."

"Jawohl," she said, closing the door behind her.

Klink shook his head. "What am I going to do?"

He glanced at his bottle of schnapps behind his filing cabinet.

"Not now," he grumbled. "I need my mind clear, so I can think." He glanced at  
the frosted glass behind him. "I need some fresh air."

He crossed the room and jerked the window open to a strong breeze that sent  
his paperwork flying. Klink swore and forced the window shut again. "Can this  
day possibly get any worse?" He bent down and flipped over a small piece of  
paper written in pencil.

oOo

Dear Soldier,

I'm Joseph and I'm from CENSORED. My teacher, Mrs. O'Brien, made us write to  
you. I don't want to. I don't like the war.

I don't understand why we're fighting Germany and Japan and Italy. Why are  
they so bad that we have to send people like my brother to die in France?

Do you know why we're at war? Could you explain it to me?

Joseph Roberts  
Age 11

oOo

Klink sat down at his desk, cradling the letter as he set it down and reached  
for his pen and paper.

oOo

Dear Joseph,

I'm truly sorry to hear about your brother's passing. It's never easy to lose  
someone you love. Please send my condolences to the rest of your family.

I wish I could tell you why your brother died. I've known a lot of men who  
died for reasons I couldn't explain. I fought in the First World War before  
becoming the Kommandant of the toughest prisoner of war camp in Germany, and  
I remember times where I'd be shivering out in the rain that plagued us in  
those days, wondering how I or my friends would survive our latest mission.  
Somehow, a few of us always did.

I can't speak for the men who killed your brother, of course, but I'm sure  
they didn't want to. We Germans aren't all evil. Many of us are just trapped  
in bad circumstances. Myself for instance. I'm very worried our food supplies  
won't get here and my prisoners will starve. I'm afraid I treated them rather  
badly because I let my worry cloud my judgment. The worst part is they'll  
probably never know why I said and did what I did. Now, all I can do is hope  
for the best. That's all anyone I can do, I guess.

I'm sorry I couldn't be more help. I wish you and your family all the best.

Sincerely,

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink  
Stalag 13

Klink smiled, dotting the I's with flourish as he heard a knock. "Come in." He  
looked up as Hilda entered.

"Heir Kommandant," she said. "I just received word the supplies will be here  
by tonight. Apparently the driver got lost."

"Got lost?" Klink scoffed. "Well, no matter. All that matters is that they're  
coming."

Hilda smiled. "I told you it would be alright."

"Kommandant!" Hogan shouted, slamming the office door behind him. "We need to  
talk!"

Klink rubbed his palms together. "Of course."

"I want my men released from the cooler, our rations restored and letters  
returned."

"Consider it done."

"I'm also lodging a formal complaint because…." Hogan stopped. "What?"

"I said all privileges restored." Klink saluted. "Dismissed."

Hogan returned the salute, narrowing his eyes. "Are you feeling alright sir?"

"Never better."

"Right," Hogan muttered. "Sir, can I give Carter his letter back?"

Klink handed him the paper. "Of course. Now, please go. I'm very busy."

Hogan glanced down at the letter frowning as he recognized Klink's  
handwriting. "Kommandant?"

"What is it?" Klink snapped.

Hogan glanced up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just wanted to  
say you're doing a bang up job sir."

Despite his feigned annoyance, Klink felt a smile of his own forming. "I  
appreciate that Hogan. Thank you."

.


	24. By ColHogan: A letter from Dee

_submitted by ColHogan._

_Dear Prisoner,_

My name is Dee, and I'm 15. My teacher, **CENSORED**, suggested everybody in my class write letters since her husband is a prisoner somewhere in Germany like you. He was an officer but I forget what rank. He was also a pilot. I wish I could be a pilot when I grow up, but I'm told girls can't be pilots.

In my class, I am what I guess you call, in charge, when the teacher is late showing up and sometimes even when she's there. When she's late, I have to take attendance and give her the list as to who's present or who's absent. When she's there, I am in charge of handing out supplies to my classmates.

Do you have any officers who are prisoners who are in charge of the other prisoners in your camp? If so, are they allowed to be with the other prisoners? Maybe he knows **CENSORED** husband?

Love,

Dee

**_This letter needs a response from a prisoner!_**


	25. An answer to Dee by inhonoredglory

_submitted by_ inhonoredglory

CENSOR'S NOTE: this never made it to me. The author slipped it to someone, who somehow got it out to the writer through other means. In exchange for some information...Snooky-9093

_Dear Dee,  
Hello! I think your teacher had a fine idea about sending letters to our  
prisoners here. And if I say it's a fine idea, you can be pretty sure it  
really is: You see, I'm a guard here. My name's Hans Schultz and I'm master  
sergeant of the guard. I'm so sorry to hear that your teacher's husband is in  
prison somewhere in my country. The censors blocked his name, so I won't be  
able to locate him for you. But tell your teacher I'm sorry. Believe me, if  
this were my war, I'd sent everyone home and celebrate with a great plate of  
apple strudel!  
There is in fact an officer here who leads the prisoners. I sometimes don't  
understand it because ours is suppose to be a stalag for non-enlisted men, but  
I don't question the rules and regulations. I just do what I'm told and try to  
keep everyone happy. Our officer is a colonel. He's an American flyer and I  
think he and I get along very well, if I might say so myself, even if he does  
get a little naughty at times. Our colonel, his name is Robert Hogan, by the  
way, he is allowed to associate with the prisoners. In fact, he shares a  
barracks with them, and no one is complaining, which is good. I don't like  
squabbling.  
But your letter was very interesting. To be frank, I think you'd make a better  
leader than I would. Don't tell the Kommandant, of course, and don't tell me  
either and I might start believing it and that wouldn't be very good for my  
being a sergeant. You certainly would make a better pilot than I would. I'm  
afraid of heights, but I'm sure you're not afraid of heights. Just wait a  
moment, Dee. I have an idea about those pilot dreams...  
I am back! You see, I slipped your letter from one of the prisoners' boxes. I  
know it was terribly naughty of me, but I wanted to be a part of your project.  
It sounded like such fun, and I think everyone should be involved in a little  
goodwill, don't you? And for a little old sergeant like me, well, a little  
excitement could hardly do any damage. But about being a pilot. I've overheard  
some prisoners talk about women in special groups that fly planes from  
factories to bases. Just now, I checked with Colonel Hogan, and he said that  
it's called the Women's Army Corps. I had quite a time trying to get it out of  
him without him knowing what I was up to; he's a slippery fellow and I'm sure  
he got suspicious. I don't know much about that women's flying group, but  
maybe you could check it out for me. I probably should finish this letter and  
hide it in the outgoing mail. Uh-oh, here comes Colonel Hogan now and if I  
know Hogan, he's figured me out. Good luck, Dee. You'll make a great flyer.  
Hans_

P.S. Don't give up on your dreams, Dee. Your skills and tenacity can do a lot  
of good for this world. My prayers are with your teacher. –Colonel Robert E.  
Hogan, Stalag 13  



	26. Canadian Hogan's Fan revives the story!

Dear Prisoner,

My name is Delores. I'm 11 and I live CENSORED with my mom and dad. Teacher says I should write to you about my family, but I won't because we're boring. We just like to listen to the radio. I heard Frankie Sinatra on it last night and he asked if we were part of the 10 percent club. What is that? Something about buying war bonds I think. Does buying them really make a difference? We spend all our extra money on them (we don't even go to the movies or out for ice cream anymore) and it still hasn't stopped the war. We roll bandages for the Red Cross too. Mama likes it because she can talk to all of her friends.

Being a soldier must be neat. You get to go to interesting places and meet interesting people. What's it like in CENSORED? Could you maybe ask someone to tell me what food they like to eat, what things they like to listen to on the radio. I wonder if there's someone in CENSORED just like me.

I hope you'll write back soon. I never get any letters in the mail, except for birthday cards.

Hugs and love,

Delores

_Someone care to respond?_


	27. An answer to Delores

_submitted by inhonouredglory_

_Dear Delores,_

We are delighted to hear from you. I hear that every piece of mail from your  
class is a highlight to a prisoner's day. Tell your teacher that she is doing  
us a great service. And please do not say your family life is boring.  
CENSORED, the senior officer of the prisoners here, has told me many times  
that every soldier, from a general to the lowliest private, loves to hear  
about the mundane details that happen in family life at home. It reminds them  
of the warmth and safety they remember before the war. So please, mon ami, so  
not feel bad about having nothing exciting to say.

I do not know about the ten percent club, as you say, but one of the prisoners  
tells me that it means that one has pledged to give ten percent of their  
income to buying war bonds. Of course the bonds make a difference, dear. All  
of the Allies are in desperate need of supplies and I am grateful that your  
country is so generous to help in the cost of these defenses. I am sorry you  
cannot enjoy those wonderful treats, films and ice cream, but in war, these  
things happen. My family was split apart when the war began, so don't feel so  
bad for yourself. I know you will enjoy films again. The war will end. I  
know.

Delores, being a soldier can indeed have its neat moments. They tell me they  
do meet many people and places. Several men have never been outside their home  
towns until they were called to war. But fighting a war is so much more than  
that. There is hardship and fear and a lot of hurt. But, dear, it is all to a  
good purpose. I know the hope I feel when I hear news that your troops are  
coming to liberate my country. I know the fright of being under this regime's  
watch. Your advance truly brings hope to me and hope that my family will be  
liberated as well.

I am sorry that my letter is a little long and not very cheerful. I will try  
to lighten a little. You ask about what food the prisoners like to eat? The  
Kommandant usually prepares their meals. It is not very good – bread and  
water. And bread with sawdust in it, no less. But many men dream of great  
cakes and pies, great home-cooked feasts and cookies. Fortunately, they have a  
friend here, a Frenchman, who manages to prepare some wonderful dishes for the  
men. I know of one man, the senior officer as I said, and I could tell you  
what he likes. He tells me that his most favorite food is his mother's angel  
food cake. Of course, he can't get much of that here. Even the little  
Frenchman can't manage that. He listens to all the famous entertainers in  
America. I'm sure you know them, even though I do not. I heard him mention  
Tommy Dorsey and Duke Ellington. He speaks of Gene Krupa, too. He plays the  
drums.

And I'm sure we here are just like you. We have the same hopes and dreams, I'm  
sure. Happiness, love, those kinds of things. Tell everyone there we  
appreciate your project.

Au revoir,  
T. Lily

-


	28. A MISSION COMPROMISED

Barracks two was in turmoil, turned upside down, as the entire contingent of residents, (minus, the Colonel, of course, who as an officer, rarely did any housework, but was instead leaning against the wall, nursing a mug of coffee and supervising) were searching for the missing stack of important papers.

"Leave no stone, unturned," Hogan said between sips. "Or mattress for that matter."

"I can't imagine where it went, Colonel." Olsen was the last one to see the stack which was crucial to an important mission. To everyone's horror, after an unscheduled, sneak roll call, ordered by some big-wig from Berlin, the men returned to the hut, and discovered the vital paperwork was missing. He ran his fingers through his hair, and then caressed his chin. "I left it right there, on top of my bunk." The sergeant patted the lumpy mattress. "It was tied up with string."

"Keep at it." Hogan ordered. "We need to get those out." He walked over to the table and put down his mug. "I'm heading over to Klink's office to see if one of his goons somehow got in here when we weren't looking. In which case, someone is in big trouble." He left the hut, closing the door behind him.

OKAY FOLKS. IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T GUESSED…THE MISSING STACK OF IMPORTANT PAPERS ARE ACTUALLY MORE LETTERS FROM THE CHILDREN BACK HOME. I WANTED TO GET THIS UP, SO THAT WE CAN GET MORE LETTERS IN BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR. WE MAY HAVE NEW READERS, AND I HAVE RECEIVED SOME QUESTIONS IF THE STORY IS STILL OPEN…YOU CAN SEND THEM TO ME BY PM, OR BY EMAIL AT srubin5190atcomcastdotnet. FROM WHAT I CAN REMEMBER, WILSON HAS YET TO TAKE PART.


	29. Finally! Another letter

Submitted by Canadian Hogan's Fan:

Dear Prisoner,  
My name is Danny. I'm in Grade 3. I have a dog named Ranger and a baby sister who cries all the time. I like Ranger better because we can play fetch on Saturdays when it isn't raining. He is black with a white face and only barks when Billy comes over (he lives next door.) Ranger doesn't like him anymore because Billy threw a chestnut in his face once. Billy's mean. He says I smell funny. He's the one who smells funny if you ask me.  
Mrs. O'Brien says you live in CENSORED now because the Germans won't let you go home. Is it like when a teacher says you can't go home after school until you bang out all the erasers or pick up all the trash in the schoolyard because she thinks you've been bad? I did that once. Mrs. O'Brien blamed me when Billy left a frog in her desk. I hate Billy sometimes, even though Mom says I shouldn't.  
Mom says everyone fighting in the war is a hero that everyone can look up to. When I grow up, I want to be a hero too, so I can save lives. That way, people will look up to me, and nobody will say I smell funny or be mean to me anymore. That stuff really hurts my feelings.  
Have you ever saved a life? How do you do it? I wish I could be just like you, or Superman.  
Aloha,  
Danny Williams

anyone care to respond?


	30. wilson answers Danny

submitted by El Gringo Loco

Dear Danny,

Thank you for writing. My name is Joe, and I had a dog when I was your age. Fluffy was a yellow haired Brittany Spaniel, that I loved as much as you do Ranger. And I hope the two of you have good times together.  
You wrote that you want to save lives when you grow up. And I think that's great. I'm one of the medics here in camp. And I'd like to go on and become a doctor after the war. Yes, I've saved lives. And it's a good feeling when someone you've helped gets well. But sometimes you can't save someone, no matter how hard you try, and that hurts, a lot. But I'm not God, just a man. So I'm not the one who gets to decide.  
But it's not just doctors and nurses who help people. Firemen save lives too. And the police make good peoples lives better by taking bad guys off the streets. And when it's time, you'll have a lot more choices to choose from. If you stay out of trouble and do well in school now.  
It's good that you're thinking about when you grow up. But growing up will come soon enough. Trust me on that. And you'll never get the chance to be a boy again when you do. So try to enjoy being one while you can.

My sincerest thanks, Joe Wilson, Sgt, US Army


	31. A long letter from Howard, and an answer

submitted by Bethany Peat:

Dear Soldier,

I'm having trouble thinking of what to say in this letter. Miss O'Brien said you'll like anything we write to you, because you've been stuck in that prison camp so long that even stuff we think is boring is interesting. I'm having trouble imagining that. Miss O'Brien says to imagine doing the same thing, at the same time, every day, without anything ever changing. I asked her what she thinks my life is like.

She said I should tell you. So, here's what I do every single day:

Get up, get dressed, and get my three little brothers dressed. Then I make all the beds. I have to make sure everything's picked up before we go downstairs.

My brothers and I eat in the kitchen. Sometimes Mama has a few minutes and can sit down to eat with us, but usually not. So I have to make sure John doesn't spill his oatmeal on his shirt and that Joshua doesn't try to take food off of his plate and that Nathan doesn't dawdle too long over his food and make us late for school. When we're done eating, I make sure everyone washes their faces and brushes their teeth. Even if there's no toothpaste, we still have to brush our teeth.

Then we go to school. I have to watch my brothers the whole way there, to make sure they don't wander off or run into the street and get hit by a car. Even when we get to school, I have to drop the twins off at their classroom door. I'm supposed to drop Nathan off, too, but as soon as we get to the school yard, I let him go by himself. He's in second grade now; he can handle it. I've been going to my room by myself since the end of first grade.

Then we have school. I think it's always the same, even though Miss O'Brien doesn't. We say the pledge and pray, then do math, then spelling and grammar and compositions, then have music class. After music, we have what the teachers call physical education, and all of us kids call gym. Then we have geography. After geography is the best time of day: lunch. As fifth graders, we have the last lunch of anybody in the whole school. Sometimes it seems like it takes forever for it to get to lunch time. After lunch, we get time to play outside at recess for twenty minutes. Then we come back in and have history and science.

After that, I go pick up my brothers and we walk home from school together. I have to watch them for the rest of the afternoon. I don't like that very much, but I don't complain about it. One time when I complained that all the other boys got to have time to play with their friends while I was stuck watching my baby brothers, she told me she'd watch them for me that day. Then she told me I could do what she usually did in the afternoons: finish washing all the sheets and hanging them on the line to dry. I didn't even finish by suppertime, and my arms hurt so bad that was a chore just to scoop the mashed potatoes up to my mouth. Since then, I try not to complain about having to watch my brothers, because I DO NOT want to ever have to switch jobs with Mama again.

It's annoying, though, because some of the boys in my grade make fun of me because I always have to watch my brothers. They call me a sissy or a girl or say that I like to play with babies. And my friends from school, even though they don't call me names, don't come over to play much at our house, either.

After supper, we all help do the dishes. There's almost always lots of them, but with five of us working on them, we usually get done pretty quickly. Then Mama makes sure my brothers have done their homework, if they have any, and take a bath if it's bath night. Then she reads them goodnight stories while I have to do my homework at the table.

When my homework is done, I go out to the front desk and give Mama a goodnight kiss. Before I go to bed, I make sure that all of our schoolbags are packed and our clothes are ready for tomorrow. Then I go to sleep and wake up and do it all over again.

I guess Saturdays and Sundays are a little different, but not much. On Saturdays instead of going to school, Mama gives us a list of chores to do, like weeding the garden, beating the rugs, scrubbing the bathtubs, and washing the windows. I have to watch my brothers to make sure they do their part of the work right. Last week, John started pulling up the carrots while we were weeding the garden, and we had to go back and replant a bunch of them! But as soon as we get done with our chores, we can play, so as long as we work hard, we're usually done by dinner or just a little after and have the whole afternoon to play. A lot of times, Saturdays is the one day of the week my brothers and I get to go somewhere else to play. We like to go down to the crick or the pond. Sometimes we go swimming, or make little boats of twigs and race them. In the wintertime, sometimes we get to go skating.

On Sundays, we go to church and Sunday School. Mama always fixes a big Sunday dinner. It's the best meal of the whole week. We don't get fried chicken on Sundays every week now like we used to before the war, but sometimes we do. Afterwards, we do the dishes. Then we have the best time of the whole week: playing games with Mama! A lot of times she gets called away, but usually on Sundays it's quick and she can come right back. Sometimes we go to the park together, but most of the time, we just play games together in the kitchen or in the living room. I like charades the best, although last week Mama started teaching me how to play chess while my brothers were playing Go Fish. She said she hadn't played since my Dad died and was out of practice, but boy, did she beat the tar out of me! I don't think I lasted more than five or six moves in any of the games we played. She said not to worry about it, that I'll get better if we keep playing together.

I don't know about that. If she can beat me that quickly now, what's the point of practicing when she'll get better at the same time as me?

Well, if you feel like it, maybe you can write back and tell me what your life is like. Who knows? Maybe Miss O'Brien is right, and I'll think your life is interesting, even if you think it's boring, because it's different than mine.

Sincerely,

Howard Baugus

P.S. Miss O'Brien looked over my letter and said I should explain why my life is this way. She says I should add that my mother runs a bed and breakfast hotel in our house. And my father's dead.

He didn't die in the war... not exactly. He was working in the shipyards on one of the ships we sent to England when the war first started when a tar mop fell on his head from way above. He's been dead for four years now.

I know a lot of people whose fathers or uncles or older brothers have gone off to fight in the war. Some of them have died. Sometimes, though, I think maybe it's easier for the people back here if they know that their someone died. Because the people whose brothers and husbands and fathers are missing- when they answer the door and get that telegram, sometimes they think their someone is dead. I heard Andy's mom fainted when she opened the door, and it took her three days to read the note and find out his dad was missing and not dead. Or only maybe dead. They still don't know if he's dead or not and just have to wonder and worry all day long. Every day. And poor Mrs. Cooke, she never smiles any more. I think all that wondering and worrying would be worse than just knowing.

So I hope your family knows where you are, and doesn't think you're missing. Maybe you should write to them instead of me.

** Note from Snooky: somehow the response to this got past the censors.**

Dear Howard,

For someone who couldn't think of anything to write, you sure wrote a lot!

Don't feel bad. I'm just teasing. Sometimes I'm the same way myself. I think I have nothing to say, and then I get started writing and before I realize it, I've written two or three pages. Sometimes it's just saying things like how I miss teasing my sisters (I have five of them- all older), or how much I'd love to have a slice of my mom's apple crisp with ice cream on it, or some corn on the cob, or a thick, juicy steak... I better stop now, if the fellas catch me drooling over my letter, they're going to wonder what I could possibly be writing. And when they find out, they'll tease me to no end!

Anyways, I don't mind writing to you and my family; writing letters gives us something to do around here! We spend most of the day, every day, inside our barracks. It gets pretty old real quick.

Since you asked, I'll take a minute and describe my life. I think my life is pretty boring, too, but maybe you'll find it interesting.

At 5:30 in the morning, we fall out for our first roll call of the day. There's always four, and sometimes five or six of them. Every day.

Actually, my barracks usually doesn't go outside for roll call until the barracks guard, Sergeant Schultz, comes in to bang on our bunks and yell at us. Sometimes Newkirk or LeBeau even tells him to go away. Actually, with Newkirk it's usually, "Bugger off," but that's just English slang. We have to stand outside for roll call until Shultzie counts all of us to make sure that we're all here. Sometimes we play tricks on him to make it take longer. We can make it take a long time for him to count to fünfzehn- that's fifteen.

A lot of times, we have to put up with boring speeches from Klink, our camp kommandant. He's the head Kraut around here. Sometimes we call him "Klink the Fink," which isn't very nice of us, I suppose. But until I read in your letter about how your feelings were hurt by being called names, I hadn't really stopped to think about it. My nickname's Slim, and I don't mind the fellas calling me that. In fact, if one of them called me Edwin, I think I might look around to see who the new guy was.

But back to my schedule. After roll call, we have breakfast. After breakfast, we stay in our barracks until lunch, unless we have a work detail. That's doing things like fixing the roads or shoveling snow. After lunch, we go back to our barracks. We usually get an hour or two to play games outside or in the rec hall during the afternoon. Then it's back to the barracks until suppertime, and back to the barracks again after supper. After our final roll call (usually about 9:30), we go back to our barracks. We have to have all of the lights turned off by 10:00, or we get in trouble.

We do just about anything we can think of to make the time pass quicker in the barracks.

Several of the guys do great impersonations, and Newkirk's always willing to play cards with you. Of course, he nearly always wins, too. We also read books, play our few board games, do our laundry in the sink or in a pail, and sew up our clothes when they get worn. We take turns with things like KP- that's washing dishes in the mess hall. If you think you've got lots of dishes to wash, you should try washing the dishes for a thousand guys! Even with eight of us in the kitchen to wash up, it takes a long time.

Anyways, I'm glad to hear you're such a responsible fellow. Not many kids your age have their day that regimented, but I'm sure your mother appreciates all the help you give her by watching after your brothers so much. I'm also fairly certain your brothers have it pretty good; at least they won't have any older sisters dressing them up in girls' clothes or forcing them to have tea parties in the yard, like my sisters did to me.

Keep up the good work, Howard. In just a few years, your brothers will be old enough that you won't need to watch them anymore. Although, by that time, you may have an after-school job and be wishing for the good old days when all you had to do was keep an eye on your brothers while you played in the yard after school.

Sincerely,

Corporal Edwin "Slim" Addison

USAAC

P.S. I was sharing my letter with the guys, and Andrew told me not to worry about hurting the kommandant's feelings; apparently the Colonel told the old Iron Eagle that "Fink" stands for "Firm, Impartial, Nazi, Kommandant." And Klink thinks that's a compliment.


End file.
